


Can't Feel My Face

by little_luna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mates, Mating Rituals, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Post Season 3, Psychotropic Drugs, Rimming, Scent Marking, Soul Bond, Time Skips, Top Derek Hale, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_luna/pseuds/little_luna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It felt so natural that he didn’t realize it.</p><p>Until he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Feel My Face

**Author's Note:**

> *Please, please reference the tags before reading. May not be everyone's interests, but please be mindful of all subject matter.*
> 
> Truly, this came about from firstly misunderstanding the meaning of a song and believing it to be a kink-fest, to then just rolling with anything that came to mind. I'm a sucker for anything soul bond involving these losers and tried my hand at something different.
> 
> This story jumps a little, going from the present to past (italicized), but I tried to make it flow as best as I could. 
> 
> Title from the same song by The Weeknd.

Stiles knew for a fact that Derek didn’t fare well with abandonment.

The only confirmation would come from watching that hard face soften, fall for only a breath of a second before it would pick itself up into harsh lines, familiar sharp eyes.

It had happened each time Scott had rejected the alpha, after Erica’s death, after Boyd’s, after Peter's, after someone, _anyone_ , would wash up into Derek’s life only to leave him there, his heart in his throat weeks later. Stiles had seen it, watched each progression when no one else paid it much mind.

It was open and fragile in its honesty, its privacy.

It was how the pair had gotten to such a point, alone in the loft, Stiles' heart sending tremors against his skin, something electric and cosmic and unbearable causing his hands to gravitate to that angular face in front of him. Stiles had seen Derek's careful disposition crumble for the last time he would ever allow, he felt the rough patch of the wolf’s shortened beard beneath the pads of his fingertips, watched green eyes become wide, become clouded with something Stiles couldn’t fathom just yet, but he was staring to understand.

“You’ll never be alone.” He promised the alpha, a vow, something he never should have. But something that had finally felt  _right._

And damn it to _hell_ if Stiles couldn’t try.

\---

Deaton had looked between the two, a bit dejected, disbelieving, but more in the tense expressions the pair wore than what was being hastily communicated to him. He could sense something in the air, feel a crackle that made him overly sensitive, a sensation he had not felt until the two had shown up at the door of the clinic, after operational hours.

The alpha has explained to him in not so many words, Stiles watched on as if he didn’t have anything to say on the delicate matter. Deaton noticed the human's lips twitch every few seconds, wanting to voice a comment, but the rogue on his cheeks kept him silent. A rare sight.

Deaton peaked in one cabinet, then the next. He slid a small, black pouch across the surgical table, towards the hands of the alpha.

“This can be steeped as a tea, can be baked into something of your choosing, or may even be burned and inhaled if you so prefer.”

The cold, clear eyes of the alpha looked at him in deep concentration, and a little weariness. Stiles’ arms were folded across his chest, tightly and unmoving. His eyes didn't meet anyone’s, still.

But Deaton pressed on. “The effects are rather immediate, and,” Deaton gave a glance up at the alpha, at Stiles, “ _intense_.”

He heard fabric rustle in accommodation, whether it was for comfort or uneasiness, he could only sense the air to try and confirm.

“Knowing your family for as long as I have, Derek, I must ask as my civil duty as a practitioner. You’re certain? The both of you?”

Finally warm, brown eyes met Deaton’s darker. Another crackle between the shared space, a sensation of something mild and drumming like an eager pulse surrounded them. The displaced pair didn't look to each other for solace, but their gazes did not waiver with the challenging words of the Vet.

It’s Derek that takes the pouch off the table as a type of confirmation, stores it in the pocket of his jacket, Stiles shuffling out of the clinic first without a final glance. The alpha gives Deaton a final look of something like gratitude then shuts the door behind him, the bell above the frame chiming.

Deaton continues on with the work that had been interrupted by the impromptu walk-in, and if anyone else decides to pay him a later visit with questions bubbling at their lips, it is not his business to discuss.

\--

_“Is it the same for humans?” Derek asked his mother, a worksheet of long division placed in front of him, watching her cook as he did his best to distract himself from anymore homework._

__

_“I wouldn’t know,” she smiled at her son, dark waves moving against the canvass of her pearl blouse. Derek always thought his mother looked beautiful in white, cinnamon skin against the purest contrast. “Last time I checked, I don’t think any of your friend’s mothers have four legs.”_

__

_Derek rolled his eyes, exasperated. “You know what I mean, mom.”_

__

_“It might be the same, darling. But humans do not have mates. It maybe not be as powerful, or maybe it’s just as strong. But what they have always said is true. You don’t know when you find them, until you do.”_

\---

Stiles knows exactly how he had gotten into such a position.

 

Between backhanded comments, between challenges, looks exchanged, brushing of fingers and arms and shoulders, dreams and smells and sounds, curiosity and a single lick of bravery after years. It was the car ride here, silent and tense, to Derek being the last of the Hales with a key to the cabin, to Stiles sitting on the bed, to Derek mirroring his movements until he just couldn’t anymore.

Stiles’ chin is angled towards the beams of solid wood overhead that hold the structure together, Derek lies heavy between Stiles’ open legs. The werewolf is snuffling Stiles’ neck, intrigued by the shape of it, the color, the flecks of moles and fainter marks, the bob of Stiles’ Adam’s Apple each time the human forces a dry patch of air down it. Then Derek is licking at it, cautious strokes of his tongue, then fat, confident swipes against Stiles’ fluttering pulse. It sings in Derek’s ears like nothing else has, makes his own heart pick up to a excitable rhythm.

The only sounds Stiles can make out past the haze in his mind are the creaks of the bed each time Derek shifts, his own heartbeat lighting a fire in every tip of his body, the small, broken mewls he lets out when Derek sucks the skin of his throat dangerously sharp against the gleam of his teeth. Derek’s hands run their course into Stiles’ unruly hair, tilting his head further back to Derek’s liking.

Stiles allows this, feels the hot trail of Derek’s tongue, the scrape of his beard when those lips want to suck a mark onto him, hands moving from his hair to his shoulders, clutching him there carefully. Stiles gets a handle on Derek’s thick hair, feeling it thread between his fingers, using it to move Derek’s mouth this way and that. To where he is most sensitive, where it feels the best, to skin Derek hasn’t yet tasted, to the very spot that makes Stiles stomach drop as low as it can go and leave a feeling of molten bliss.

\--

_“So it’s not like some cross between Dances With Wolves and some triple X Disney fairy tail?”_

_He’s asking Derek seriously, but the look on the alpha’s face doesn’t look appreciative of Stiles’ colorful comparisons._

_“It’s nothing like that Stiles, feet off the table,” he reminds him, although the human ignores his command in favor of settling into the couch further, feet unmoving._

__

_“Okay, so what? It’s like an acid trip and somehow in the end you end up with a mate? If it’s that blasé then what’s the importance of it, really. Anyone can get high--”_

__

_“_ Shut up, Stiles _. You’re completely missing the point of it--”_

__

_“Then tell me! Your incredibly vague descriptions leave too much to the imagination, sourwolf.”_

__

_Derek resigns with a sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat, eyes blinking in annoyance._

__

_“That particular strand of wolfsbane is not something you can come across easily, only an emissary or someone similar can have possession of it. It’s used as an aide, to lower inhibitions, to relax both partners, to intensity the experience. It’s been used for generations, some packs even believe that the ritual isn’t fulfilled without it. If it is not used within the initial mating bond, the bond is not valid. Not complete.”_

__

_Derek looks at Stiles, mischievousness that was etched on his face like a caricature is all but void now. The alpha isn’t quite sure how they had gotten into the topic, how Stiles could even possibly find information about the specific strand of wolfsbane used in solely mating bonds, but Stiles has a way of finding information that even surprises Derek in it’s accuracy. The human nods like he understand the severity of it now, glances up at Derek as if waiting for more._

__

_“It’s not about getting high,” Derek reiterates for good measure, face sharpening, “Now feet off the table.”_

\--

Stiles is heaving by the time Derek finally lets up. The collar on his shirt has been stretched to oblivion, the cotton becoming very accommodating to Derek’s incessant tugs to bite at Stiles’ collar bones. The hem of Stiles’ shirt has been rucked up, one side wrinkled under Derek’s weight, resting just across the trail of the hair surrounding his bellybutton. Stiles’ arms, stronger and more muscular than when Derek first laid eyes on the human, are resting open and stretched out on the bed. Derek can still feel those long, deft fingers clutching at the material on his back, smoothing it down only to bunch up again when Derek would give a particularly rough press of his body into Stiles, a small bite on the line of his jaw, or when finally, _finally_ , Derek had kissed him.

Stiles body is loose and warm, splayed out comfortably without reserve. His heartbeat is a steady drum of lust, the smell wafting off of him is just as sweet, cognac rich, spiced just enough to have Derek drunk off of him.

He only realizes he’s staring when his eyes travel up Stiles’ lean, muscled body, to those honey brown eyes, teasing and confident.

“Really? _This_ is what does it for you?”

Derek could charm him with compliments, tell him _of course_ this is what does it for him. Just this, just _Stiles_. His broad back, his thick eyelashes, his unwavering loyalty, his incessant need to simply help, even if he physically can't. Stiles is as smart as a whip, shrill and snarky since the day Derek happened upon him on his own property.

And the fact of the matter is, Stiles has been _it_ for Derek for years.

The alpha just gives him a look, direct and clear in his intent, and drops to his knees on the carpeted floor slowly.

“ _Shit_ ,” Stiles breathes when Derek has his hands on the ridge of his belt, fingers rucking up the offensive shirt, feeling the smooth skin beneath the cotton. Derek notes the way Stiles’ stomach shrinks into itself the second of contact, how it stretches up with Stiles’ next breath, pitchy and raw and damn near _dreamlike_.

Derek’s hands move down from Stiles’ stomach, past his belt, to his thighs and around, dragging the human closer to the very edge of the bed. Stiles’ legs fall open on their own accord, Stiles lets out a breathy laugh, teethy and honest, eyes shut tight and an arm covering his face.

“God, you’re going to ruin me,” Stiles tells him, a smile still on his face, like it would be a pleasure.

\--

_Stiles hadn’t always known._

_From his standpoint, it would have been impossible to. There had been too much going on at the time, small things at first that he could brush off, to then incidents the pack couldn’t wish away if they wanted to make it until next week._

__

_Stiles would forget about that little nagging thread until the werewolf would do something so subtle, that Stiles must have missed it countless times._

__

_He hadn’t realized it when Derek would stand closer to him than the others. Not when Stiles would glance at the soft plane of skin where Derek’s beard ended and the small tufts of hair from his unbuttoned Henley would begin. Not in the way Derek was cold and stern, but the way his hands touched and felt and held was soft and calculated. Not when Stiles would catch the very top notch of Derek’s spine peeking out beneath the collar of his shirt when his head was bowed significantly._

__

_They had all been mere details to him, observations that his mind couldn’t help but take in and analyze. Like the way Derek’s seats creaked under any movement, how the loft was minimal in its furniture and necessities but still felt like a home. How Derek’s cheeks would still be tinted pink when he would come back from a full shift, lungs heaving, tongue licking his bottom lip in the absence of water. How he began to smile more, laugh without an overtone of malice, indulge in time with the pack that didn’t have a trace of structure and exercises._

__

_Stiles didn’t know that it wouldn’t always feel overwhelming and dizzying, not like it had felt for Lydia, not the way it had felt with anyone else. He didn’t know that it could be slow, that it could take years to build upon itself, that it could feel warm instead of hot, that he could revel in the calm of it without a rush. That it was okay like that, pleasant and patient and soft._

__

_It felt so natural that he didn’t realize it._

__

_Until he did._

\--

Derek is snuffling around the zipper of Stiles’ jeans, taking little inhales like he thinks the human won’t notice the blatant display of his wolf.

He can feel the intensity starting to build between the two. It starts with a buzzing all around them, background noise that Derek can tune out enough to barely notice. The frantic rhythm of heartbeats, little whispers from Stiles that don’t make a bit of sense, every time the human takes in a tiny breath.

But it grows hotter, the intensity stemming broader until all Derek can make out past the fog of it all is the blush on Stiles’ cheeks and ears, the vein on the side of his neck that keeps jutting out by how hard he’s angling his head back, the small way he’s rolling his hips, the hands that find themselves into Derek’s hair and _tug_.

God, he wants his fill of it. He wants to get lungfuls of Stiles’ scent, heady, dense, and just tart enough to have him give his own swollen cock a harsh rub through his thick denim. He wants Stiles to smell just like him, not like Scott, not like his Jeep or the Camaro or the pack, like Derek, like _them_. Together, _mated_.

Derek drags his nose right against the outline of Stiles’ cock, even through the layers he can make it out perfectly, can practically hear the blood rushing to it, can feel it hot and twitching beneath where he’s brushing.

Stiles gives another little roll of his hips, another quick inhale as Derek makes it down to the very tip of his erection. The pucker at the head has Derek drawing his mouth open just the slightest, letting the edge of his teeth feel the shape. Stiles' hips seem to cave in on each other, his stomach gets sucked up with his groan, a hand comes to his face to scrub at it.

“ _Shit_ , it’s going to get worse than this, isn’t it?”

Derek immediately lets up from the way he had been draped over Stiles open thighs. He shifts positions, confused.

“What do you mean worse? Did you change your mind--”

Stiles sits up, quickly, his face soft and controlled, scooting up to the very edge of the bed.

“No, _no_. Derek,” the werewolf looks at him, unconvinced, “Hey, I’m sure about this. I keep forgetting that if I say one wrong thing you’ll start freaking out--”

Derek rolls his eyes, “It’s not _freaking out_ , Stiles. It’s for your safety, this is serious--”

Stiles takes Derek's face in his hands, the warmth of his palms beneath the cut of the wolf's jawline. So far, this has been the only way Stiles has found that makes Derek still instantly. He lets one of his thumbs brush the werewolf’s neck for good measure.

“I know it’s serious, I know you’re worried you’ll hurt me or it will be too much or I’ll change my mind or one of the hundred other reasons you have swimming in your head. But, Derek, I won’t. I’m not changing my mind about this, not anymore than you could change your mind about me.”

Stiles knows Derek can’t, that it’s not about changing minds or losing interest. Werewolves mate for life, their entire heart, their entire self is put into the trust, affection, love, and care of their mate. Stiles had once naively dismissed it all as a done deal, but he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Stiles is it for Derek, of that he’s sure.

“And I know it goes beyond that,” Stiles continues, the intent churning a warm, wonderful sensation in Derek’s gut, “and that's why I'm here. Because _I_ chose to be." 

Derek nods, face still cradled in Stiles soft hands, tension dissipating the softer Stiles' fingers rub circles into his skin.

 

"I chose you, Derek. And that's not going to change." 

\--

_They had talked about it briefly a few nights prior to visiting Deaton. Derek wanted Stiles to know exactly what it would all entail, the effects of an alpha, what Derek would feel, what Stiles would feel, how the wolfsbane would change their dynamic, their urges, their mindsets. Derek wanted to give Stiles added time to change his mind, to back out if he needed to. Derek would have understood._

__

_But true to Stiles' character, it was a no hold bar conversation, Derek had to agree that nothing would be too ridiculous, too personal, or off limits. Derek had agreed solely because it would be for Stiles' benefit, albeit reluctantly._

__

_“Will your dick swell up?” was Stiles' first question._

__

_Derek breathed in, closing his eyes as he regretted agreeing to this already._

__

_“No, those are only real wolves, Stiles.”_

__

_“Will you pee on me?”_

__

_Derek simply looked at him, a bit startled._

__

_“Maybe,” he answered truthfully._

__

_Stiles blinked at him, eyes a little larger than usual, and nodded._

__

_“Will you bite me?”_

__

_“I don’t have to--”_

__

_“But will you want to?” Stiles asked over him, seriously._

__

_“Yes. Not deep enough to turn you, it will never, ever reach a point where I don't have control over myself. But,” Derek looked up, Stiles eyes hadn’t left his face, hands holding on to each other tensely between his lap, “it’s part of the process. Someone needs to submit, someone needs to mark.”_

__

_“And since you’re an alpha, the urge is even greater,” Stiles finishes for him, a little smug in his knowledge._

__

_Derek nods, but he has more to add._

_“But with the wolfsbane, you’re going to want to bite too. It depends on the personality of those that take it, it works with the individual, becomes attuned to their desires and sensations and their wolf. And, I just don’t believe you’re one to submit so easily.”_

_Stiles smirks to that, eyes becoming softer, dark honey full of mischief, just like Derek has always known them to be._

_“So, what you’re really saying is that it will be interesting.”_

_Derek can't truly dignify that with an answer. Interesting, he supposes, would be one way to look at it._

__

_“What I’m saying is I’m not talking about this anymore.”_

__

_Stiles looks shell shocked, sly grin sliding off his face in an instant._

__

_“But you promised! Nothing was off the table, I asked you if you would pee on me, dude! And you confirmed!”_

__

_“I said maybe.”_

__

_“We haven't even gone through our list of kinks! How do you know if we'll be compatible?”_

__

_“Shut up, Stiles.”_

\--

_The pair had decided to use the easier of the three options when it came to consumption. The method, Derek assured Stiles, did not necessarily matter. Although most chose a tea, as it was the most popular option for its sense of purity._

__

_Stiles agreed with whatever Derek decided, but he did voice concerns that baking and smoking reminded him just a little too much of his first semester at community college. Derek had given him a sideways glance, remembering all too well how much Stiles positively reeked that semester, but didn’t say anything on the matter._

__

_Deaton had told them that the tea needed to be steeped overnight for the buds to truly absorb in the water. Derek had taken the pouch out of his pocket when they arrived back at the loft and brought a kettle to boil. One cup of the tea each to begin whenever they chose, and if they believed the effects were not strong enough, they could drink more at their own caution._

__

_“How will you know if the effects are strong enough?” Stiles had asked Derek as they both stood close to the stove, the loft empty of guests for the night._

__

_“I’m not sure,” Derek has answered earnestly, listening to the water being to bubble._

__

_“I’ll, still be myself, right?” Stiles nearly whispered, the question almost shy. But it was clear he still had quite a few heavy on his mind._

__

_Derek turned to him, the human’s arms crossed, leaning against the counter in an attempt of nonchalance._  

_“Of course you will be, Stiles,” he tried to reassure him, yet it still came across sharp and curt._

__

_Derek noted the way Stiles shrunk into himself just a touch more, eyes to the floor, the inside of his cheek being gnawed at. They were little details Derek had picked up on over the years, little tricks Stiles used to try and control his anxiety, but Derek could smell it on him, sour and light clinging to his skin like smoke. It had spiked strong when the pair had gone to Deaton earlier in the evening, and still lingered pungent enough for Derek to begin to worry._

__

_The alpha moved from his spot against the counter to stand in front of Stiles, leaning against the island just opposite of the human. He could hear his heart beating just a step faster than normal, but he gave nothing away by his expression._

__

_Derek wants to reach out to him, let his hand rest against Stiles’ shoulder, brush his fingers against those longer ones, feel the grain of his hair between his own roughened palm. But he keeps his arms loose at his sides, it isn’t the time to indulge his own desires, however innocent they may be._

__

_“It’s not suppose to change you,” he continues, hoping his tone will come across sincere enough to calm Stiles’ worries, “it’s not used to coerce or manipulate if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t--,” he pauses, Stiles finally looks up, “--I would never want an experience with you to be based off of tactics.”_

__

_Stiles still has his arms across his chest, but they’re looser, his whole body seemingly falls and Derek smells something else rolling off of him now._

__

_Pity._

_Sadness_.

_Misery that is not his own._

__

_Just the way Stiles looks at him sometimes, with softness and the universe in his eyes, Derek knows that no one has really ever looked at him quite like that. Like they understand him in the simplest form, like they take him for what he is, like they want him just like this._

__

_I never want to do to you what was done to me, is what Derek wants to say. I never want you to fall in love with someone only to realize they’re more of a monster than they made you out to be. I never want you to think I would control you with pretty words and false hopes and a life together. I don’t want you to regret me._

_But Derek doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t have to._

_He feels Stiles' arms slide beneath his arms, palms open and tight against his back, lips tucked against his neck in humid puffs. Derek’s arms move without thought, over Stiles’ shoulders to hold him close._

_Stiles doesn’t say anything, but Derek figures that he doesn’t have to either._

\--

They’re in the small kitchen the cabin offers, tea in two cups, the large mason jar sitting on the counter like a type of temptation of sin.

Stiles rolls the liquid in his cup before he drinks it without preamble. Derek follows suit after he watches the way Stiles’ throat flutters when he swallows.

Stiles makes a face before he looks over at Derek, the wolf wiping the last of the liquid from his lips. His mouth is tingling already, but he can’t be sure if that’s from the tea or his own jitters.

He’s giving Derek a once over, from the waistband of his boxer briefs to his shining clavicle, up the thickness of his throat, to his interested eyes.

“Already?” Derek teases.

Stiles snorts. “Are you kidding?” And it looks like he wants to continue, Derek can see the words churning at his lips like a tide, but he resigns with a grin, honest and deliriously sexy, a blush blooming on his smooth cheeks.

Stiles scratches at the back of his neck, palm coming down against the side of his throat, fingers dipping into the skin enough to leave a red trail. The same spot Derek had been painting stripes upon, greedy and wet, only a few minutes before.

Derek takes a few steps closer, that intensity from before crackling again, Derek can feel it burn warm and deep in his bones.

“God,” Stiles breathes out, still smiling, still flushed anew. “I can feel that,” he says, looking up at Derek like it’s all incredible, and tangible, and beautiful, and he’s proud. “Does it always feel like that?”

Derek shrugs. “Only when I’m with you.”

Stiles keeps scratching at his neck, face becoming a scarlet color. He smiles down to the ground like he’s embarrassed, and Derek never thought he could ever render Stiles speechless.

Derek clears his throat, his own cheeks feeling a bit splotchy.

“So, you’re feeling the effects already?” he states more than he asks.

“I must be,” Stiles runs his fingers through his hair, actions more jittery than usual, “it just feels hot, and my skin is already starting to feel . . .”

“Restless?” Derek offers.

“Almost sensitive,” Stiles concludes. And Derek can tell, Stiles hands don’t stop treading against his skin, scratching at his arms, touching his hair, rubbing incessantly at his neck. It’s like he’s itchy, _sensitive,_ like he had said.

And Derek feels it too, a buzzing in his skin that’s deep, too deep to be surface level and cosmetic in treatment.

 

Deaton had told Derek what it would feel like, the initial effects, what they could turn into, and the ultimate result.

They had barely drunk the tea upwards of ten minutes ago and it’s already begun.

\--

_“Because he’s human his reactions will be more subtle,” Deaton’s voice rang calm and tried on the other end of the line. Derek was thankful the Vet had answered at all given the time of night._

_“What do you mean more subtle?”_

__

_He heard Deaton sigh a bit, possibly getting more comfortable into a position from what Derek could hear._

__

_“For instance, he does not possess any heightened senses like you, therefore those will not change once he ingests the wolfsbane. However, he will still have effects, yet subdued. Stiles has always been personable, the wellbeing of the pack has always affected him. It would be no surprise that his sensitivity toward emotions will heighten.”_

__

_“Will that be his only reaction?”_

__

_“Not necessarily, there are the typical reactions that each individual will have. An itching of the skin, a feeling of intense warmth, shaking hands. And after the exposure reaches its peak a sense of relaxation takes place, a bit of a cloudy mind, more sluggish movements, some have even described it as euphoria.”_

__

_Derek furrows his brows. “What is the peak?”_

__

_Deaton becomes quiet and Derek instantly feels a sense of dread pool in his gut. He wants to tell him to simply forget the question, but Deaton, always the professional, answers before Derek can even open his mouth._

__

_“Sexual satiation. Consummating the bond.”_

__

_“I . . . figured,” Derek slaps a hand against his eyes in embarrassment._

__

_“Of course, Derek. And I hope this does not come across rude, but I truly would like to get some sleep. Anymore pressing questions, send them to my voicemail.”_

__

_“Goodnight, Deaton.”_

__

\--

They’re in the same position as before, Derek between Stiles’ legs, open and knees bent on the bed. It feels better without all the layers they had on previous, Derek can feel skin against his own, smooth and burning from the wolfsbane. Stiles’ pulse feels like it’s everywhere, every inch of skin the alpha’s mouth touches is already drumming with it, he can taste it spiking against his tongue.

He hears Stiles’ breathing become choppy and needy, hands coming around Derek’s middle, past the dip of his back to the waistband of his briefs. Stiles groans, face straining up to bite of Derek’s collarbones, fingers pushing past the waistband to bury themselves into the crack of his ass.

“ _Shit_ ,” the alpha breathes out, eyes closing as he feels the tug of Stiles single finger tread deeper. The itching feels like a full blown assault, his skin crawling with tremors of heat, blazing deliciously everywhere Stiles touches him.

“Fuck, I want these off,” Stiles curses, but it comes across near begging, tugging at Derek’s briefs from his inconvenient position beneath the wolf.

Derek can’t help but laugh, lifting his knees just the slightest to try and slide the offending fabric off. Stiles kicks the rest with his feet, and Derek presses the tops of his thighs snug beneath the backs of Stiles’ knees, bare and uncut before his mate.

“You look good like that,” Stiles comments, making grabby hands for Derek to come even closer.

“Already getting delirious?” Derek teases, getting his nose right beneath Stiles ear, the skin clammy and salt soaked where he licks.

“Not even close,” Derek can almost hear the grin in there. “You just look good when you smile,” he clarifies, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say.

Stiles heartbeat is steady when he says it, Derek can’t hear it waver even through the effect of the drug. Why he still has to listen to it whenever Stiles says something like this is his own insecurity. But for the moment, he believes it.

He believes it in the way Stiles is saying his name, in the way he’s clutching at Derek the more the wolf tries to rub his scent into him, in the way Stiles’ legs come up and over to cross against his lower back. His nails score trails down the alpha’s back when he tests the meat of Stiles’ neck between his teeth.

“ _Oh my God . . ._ “

\--

Stiles doesn’t think anyone had ever worshipped his body before, not the few partners he’s ever had. Not the poor girl who took his virginity, not the boy he had met at Jungle that was enamored with finding more freckles wherever he could.

Stiles has had partners, good ones, ones that could do things with their mouths that had him damn near screaming.

But before this moment, Stiles had never had Derek.

The werewolf had pulled his briefs off his damp skin after having toyed with him for what felt like hours. He had licked him through the material, reverently, each pass of his tongue getting the cotton soaked, pulling it between his teeth, letting it sag back just to suck it into his mouth, the head of Stiles’ swollen cock being pulled along with it all.

It was torture, watching Derek work his cock to a painful hardness without even having truly touched him. And then, abruptly, shoving the fabric off, sitting back on his haunches to take in the scene before him. Stiles panting, face splotched red, skin sticky with a sheen of sweat, it couldn’t have looked particularly alluring, but the human could see Derek’s eyes flicker between freshwater green to a scarlet red. It made Stiles’ heart lurch in his throat.

**  
  
**

Derek’s eyes snap to his, the tempo of his breathing changes to deep lungfuls, Stiles watches his shoulders, sculpted and broad across, drop with the crests of his breaths. His eyes rove down Stiles’ body and Stiles tries not to move.

Derek stays like this for a handful of seconds, watching and trying to get his breathing under control. And it occurs to Stiles . . .

“The smell?” he whispers, the moment feels stretched thin, he doesn’t want to disturb it.

Derek nods, just barely, and he starts lowering himself onto his elbows, his legs stretching down and over the edge of the bed again. His eyes don’t leave Stiles’ bare cock, pumped red and thick with blood.

When Derek’s knees hit the carpeted floor he shimmies until his thighs are flush with the bed frame, until his own cock is rubbing right against the border of the mattress. He gets his thick hands around Stiles’ thighs and _pulls_.

Stiles’ back glides across the sheets, his feet are suddenly planted against Derek’s back, and he has a sloppy tongue mark its very territory. It paints a direct pathway on the seam of Stiles’ balls, making them tight with the sensation. Derek looks absolutely wrecked already, his back shifting and he moves back once again, marveling at it all, and he comes back with even more fervor than Stiles knew was possible.

 

He licks at Stiles’ balls, the skin supple and accommodating for his tongue. He slurps at them, obscenely, grunting as he takes whatever he can in his mouth. Stiles can barely handle the attention, gripping at his cock before Derek can even get his hands on him. But Derek pays it no mind, alternating between Stiles’ sensitive balls, to the puckering of his hole, darting his tongue in as far as it will go, sucking as if Stiles’ is the sweetest peach.

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles whines, “ _Fuck you’re good. God, Derek, you’re so fucking good_.”

Derek does nothing to reply. Just bites the swell of Stiles’ ass until a mark blooms there, if he’s lucky it will bruise as beautifully as he imagines it will.

\--

It’s somewhere between watching Derek’s back ripple with every movement of his arms, muscles moving in a valley of curves and sharp lines, that makes Stiles wonder why he’s simply lying on his back.

He props his elbows up to lean against them, to watch Derek for only a second more before he physically can’t take it. He retreats his body back enough for Derek to take notice, for Stiles to run his hands against the grain of his beard, to see how red and bruised his lips are, shining with his treatment. He gets a hold of Derek’s face and brings his mate’s mouth to his own.

Derek kisses him like he’s starving, teeth and tongue and urgency, kisses down Stiles’ throat, up the side of his neck, bathing him in Derek’s scent. Stiles’ brings Derek’s lips back, bites down on the thickness of his bottom one, pulls and licks into his mouth until he has Derek’s full attention.

Stiles gets the werewolf on his back, gets his thighs snug against Derek’s hips, and sits back until he feels the outline of Derek’s cock against his right ass cheek. Derek’s hands dart out to steady Stiles, they brush up against his knees, his thighs, up the sides of his stomach, hot and careful.

Stiles watches the way Derek’s arms seem to strain at each motion, each muscle teasing him with its godly swell, veins teetering against the skin in green canals, the dark hair between Derek’s pectorals, down the center of his stomach, a swirl of it at his bellybutton. Everything, every detail is lighting a fire inside of Stiles, sparks bursting against his skin the more he discovers. He reaches out to touch Derek with shaking hands he can’t feel shame over.

Pale fingers run up against the coarse hair on Derek’s chest, up and up until they frame the onset of his neck, thumbs brushing against prominent collarbones. He can feel the skin beneath, clammy and lust warm, but below that is something molten, powerful, exciting.

Stiles looks at Derek, eyes direct and unafraid, molasses brown to alpha red, and he leans down, mouth opening wide and he _bites_.

\--

Derek has two fingers buried in deep, Stiles’ hole is giving as much as it can but it’s still tight, the ring of skin is sucking in the wolf’s thick fingers each time he retreats. It’s lewd, the way Stiles’ ass drips clear lubricant, the way his asshole is red and gorgeous from so much of Derek’s attention, the noises Stiles makes when Derek gives a particularly rough press of his fingers. He watches it all, inches from his face, tempted to take out his fingers and lick into Stiles, sniff and taste and satisfy the shamelessness of his wolf.

It’s getting harder to control it, to not give himself over to what his wolf is begging for, needing from his mate.

Stiles is wringing his cock, sucking it down as far down his throat as he can. Derek can hear each time it goes too deep, choking Stiles, the noise as he gags, grunting as the erection slips from his mouth, kissing the side, licking at the head with saliva dripping against his lips. Stiles pumps it a few times before leading it back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks until all Derek can feel is tight, visceral bliss.

But even that isn’t enough for the alpa, he needs more.

“Stiles,” he gasps between breaths, his hand moving down the human’s back, soothing it with a comforting touch.

There’s no urgency in it, a change from them at the moment, and it makes Stiles stop.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning his head to get a glance at Derek behind him.

Derek shakes his head, hand still caressing at Stiles’ skin. “Nothing, nothing, I just, I--”

He can’t bring himself to say it.

Stiles stares at him a moment, all Derek can see are those eyes over his milky shoulder. He holds Derek’s gaze until he turns back around, giving Derek’s cock a squeeze, beginning at the base, up to the head. Then he turns his head once more, looking at Derek with intent.

The alpha says nothing and he only notices now that somehow his mouth is open, and he’s panting between the two.

Stiles gives another squeeze, tighter. Derek’s eyes feel like they’ll roll back into his head if Stiles’ continues.

“Stiles,” Derek warns, quiet and completely at the human’s mercy.

 

“Do you want to watch?” Stiles asks him, the bed dipping with his movements, turning himself completely around. He’s perched atop Derek’s thighs again, just like earlier, but he has the swollen prick in his grip, pumping and squeezing it at a snail’s pace, pressed right against Stiles’ lower belly.

Derek is baffled at the display. “Watch . . .”

Stiles grins, familiar and terrifying and making Derek's veins sing. “Watch you mark me? You want it here?” he grips his own cock, “Or do you want to add it to everything else, right on my neck?”

“Your hand,” Derek barely manages to say. It earns him another grin from Stiles.

Those long fingers give Derek another squeeze, and when they finally release, so does he.

It’s warm and messy, urine coats Stiles’ hand but he continues to pump Derek, moaning and rubbing the fluid onto himself, on his own cock, his stomach. Anywhere Derek could possibly want it, Stiles it too far gone to care.

“Like this?” Stiles still has the audacity to ask, eyes alight with desire.

“ _God, you’re perfect,_ ” Derek tells him, he can’t help it anymore.

He doesn’t care enough to try.

\--

Stiles has his arms against the wall, the only cushion he can provide himself from getting knocked into the foundation, each press of Derek inside him has him reeling forward. He loves it, had wanted it this way even, wanted Derek’s hands free to touch him everywhere he could, to wrap around him, to tug at Stiles’ neglected cock, to whisper somethings into his ear.

_“You smell so good, Stiles. So fucking good.”_

__

_“Shit, how does it feel?”_

__

_“Fuck, Stiles, you love it don’t you?”_

__

_“Like this? You want it like this?”_

Stiles could cry, Derek is piercing him so deep it should be a crime. Each press against his prostate has him whining against his arm, biting into it to keep from sobbing. Derek is pistoning his hips against the curve of Stiles ass, Stiles can feel his mate’s groin slap against him each time, the sound mixing with their hitched breathing, with Derek’s short grunts and Stiles’ incessant cries he can’t control.

“Look at you,” Derek pants into his ear, “you’re a natural. You’re doing so good, baby.”

Stiles has a second of clarity. “Baby?” he teases while he still can.

Derek grips at Stiles’ hips, rutting into him like a dog in heat. He nuzzles the side of Stiles neck and laughs, gentle and sweet.

“Make me come,” Stiles tells him, smiling and breathless. Derek’s arms come up to tangle with lighter ones against the wall, fingers twining together like roots.

Seconds later Stiles’ sees black, shockwaves of pleasure course through his body, bursting like acid droplets against his skin, deep in his core, it feels like euphoria and he’s shivering, his body tightens before it opens up beautifully.

Stiles feels it when Derek opens up for him as well, golden and warm. The wolf holds onto him and he whines against his back like he's wounded, shivering with just as much emotion, pressing into him until he’s too sensitive to continue, spilling and spilling inside his mate.

Derek licks a spot on Stiles’ shoulder, his canines grow, and Stiles whispers something before the first tear against his skin.

“ _Yes_.”

\--

The sun must be setting, the palette of twilight spills into the cabin. Soft oranges, lavender purples, chilled blues. The birds are singing just outside the window, Derek can hear the wind rasping against branches, leaves crunching under the feet of animals, but not much else matters than the steady beat of the heart beside him.

Stiles is looking at the ceiling, eyes opening and closing with a drowsy pace, his muscles relaxed and limp. He smells heavenly, like Derek and himself, content and brimming with love.

Derek places a kiss on his chest. “I believe you,” he seals into his skin, a promise.

“Hm?” Stiles hums, a hand coming to run itself through Derek’s short hair.

“I believe you,” Derek repeats.

Stiles smiles, lazy and breathtaking. “Which part?”

 

Derek huffs, a smiles breaking across his lips, natural and thriving. “All of it.”

“Promise?” Stiles asks, “because you’re stuck with me, it was in the fine print.”

He’s teasing, but Derek can hear his heart pick up just a bit, almost reluctant in its waiting. But Stiles is as smart as he is blind sometimes. Of this Derek has always known.

He comes in close, hovering just above his mate’s lips, voice as smooth and certain as he can make it.

“I promise,” he tells him, and he listens to Stiles heart, steady and content, as long as he kisses him and even beyond.

**  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
